Robert W. Chambers,
The Little Red Foot
“ On the wood's edge, I paused and looked back at the place called Cherry Valley, lying so peacefully in the sunshine, where in the fields grain already was turning golden green; and fat cattle grazed their pastures; and wisps of smoke drifted from every chimney.That is my memory of Cherry Valley in the sunny tranquillity of late afternoon, where tasseled corn like ranks of plumed Indians, covered vale and hillock; and clover and English grass grew green again after the first haying ”
